


in my mind when she's not right there beside me

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 11:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5203373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>5 times River embarrassed the Doctor by leaving something naughty in his coat pocket and one time she didn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in my mind when she's not right there beside me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goddessdel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessdel/gifts).



> Happy Birthday, Sarah! Sorry it's late, darling:)
> 
> Story title from R U Mine by the Arctic Monkeys.

_i_.

 

The first time it happens, he’s far too young.

 

He and Amy roam the universe like the oldest of friends, skipping from one adventure to the next. They save a whale in outer space and save civilization from the Daleks in the middle of the London Blitz. The Doctor promises her their next stop is a new planet but when he lands the TARDIS, they stumble out into the middle of a crowded street on Earth.

 

Amy turns to frown at him.

 

The Doctor avoids her gaze, sniffing the air. “Washington, D.C.,” he says, and holds out his tongue. He smacks his lips together. “Suffrage Parade. 1913.”

 

“Showoff,” Amy grumbles, but she’s laughing as the Doctor tugs the TARDIS door shut behind him.

 

He grins back, hooking his thumbs into his braces. “Want to march, Amy Pond?”

 

“Can we?” She turns to him, eyes bright with hope, and he smiles at her fondly. She squeals, clapping her hands together, and eyes the women marching by with signs and sashes, heads lifted proudly. “This is amazing. Look at them. Can we wear sashes?” She bounces a little, looking giddy. “I want a sash, Doctor.”

 

“I’m sure we can manage.” The Doctor tugs at his jacket and starts walking toward the barricade the coppers have set up, pushing his way through the crowd. “Come along, Pond!”

 

There are guards standing at the barricades in an effort to keep the crowds away from the women but the Doctor pays them no mind, reaching idly into his pocket and feeling for his psychic paper. He flashes it at one of them without looking, muttering, “Official business. Very important and business-y business about sashes. Excuse us -”

 

The copper grasps his wrist and halts the Doctor’s progress, gaping at the words on the paper. The Doctor watches him with a frown, eyeing the man’s increasingly flushed cheeks with growing concern. He’s just about to ask after the poor fellow’s health when he finally snaps his mouth shut and reaches for the handcuffs dangling at his belt.

 

The Doctor feels his brows climb into his hairline. “Erm, problem?”

 

“You’re under arrest.”

 

The Doctor yelps as his arms are twisted roughly behind his back, almost dropping the psychic paper in the process. Feeling the cuffs slapped around his wrists and tightened until the metal digs into his skin, he asks, “On what grounds?”

 

“Lewdness,” the officer says, and shoves him into the crowd.

 

“What? I didn’t -” The Doctor twists his head around to look for Amy over his shoulder. He spots her on the curb, gaping after him. “Pond! Help!”

 

It’s only when he’s sitting alone in his cell waiting for Amy to bail him out – with what, he has no idea but he’s rather hoping she’s clever enough to come up with something – that the Doctor finally has a chance to look at his psychic paper. It isn’t unusual for the paper to malfunction and show something other than what he’d intended but usually it just gives a different name and ends up making him Lord President. Never had it gotten him arrested before. Well. Not on earth. Not recently.

 

Curious, the Doctor huddles on the floor of his cold cell and flips open the psychic paper. The light of his cell doesn’t encourage reading but he squints determinedly in the dim light, bringing the paper close to his face. Finally, his eyes adjust to the darkness and the words begin to take shape.

 

_Sweetie –_

 

His eyes widen as he scans the rest of the message. That first word seems to be the only part of it that isn’t utterly filthy. He gulps, feeling his cheeks heat the further he reads. “Well, that’s just -” He scratches his cheek and tilts his head. “Is that even possible?”

 

And such _language_.

 

River Song is a bad, bad girl.

 

“Doctor?”

 

He yelps, almost dropping the paper. He scrambles to catch it, stuffing it into his pocket and looking up with wide eyes. Amy stands on the other side of the bars, keys in hand. He grins in relief. Later, when he peeks at his psychic paper again in the safety of the TARDIS, River's message is gone. 

 

 _ii_.

 

Kahler Jax had given the town of Mercy quite a lot of advantages that others of this era had never even dreamed of – advanced medicines, electricity, and plumbing. What he hadn’t given them, much to the Doctor’s annoyance, was air conditioning. He walks through town with the sun beating down on him. Sweat collects under his shirt, making it cling to his back. It makes his hair damp and forms on his brow, dripping into his eyes and making them sting.

 

“Hello stranger.”

 

He glances up, squinting against the sunshine, and finds himself staring at a scantily clad young woman eyeing him with a concerning amount of interest. He gulps. “Hello.” He offers her a little wave. “Can I help you?”

 

Her smile widens. “Why don’t we help each other?” With alarming speed, she steps forward and latches onto his arm, grinning up at him. The Doctor stifles a panicked whimper. “Come with me, sugar. Get out of this heat for a while. I’ll take care of you.”

 

He relaxes at that, following her willingly as she guides him across the street. “Well, maybe just for a bit. It is rather hot, isn’t it? Do you have lemonade? Ooh, and a little hand fan. I love a little hand fan.”

 

“You can have whatever you like, sugar.” The girls casts him an amused glance. “For a price, anyway.”

 

“Well of course,” he says. “I’m not the sort of bloke who won’t pay for his own lemon-” The rest of his sentence trails off abruptly as they walk up the path to a rundown two-story house, the front porch crowded with similarly dressed young women. Inside, the Doctor can see men sitting at the bar or at tables playing cards, women draped over their laps. It finally dawns on him just what he’s walking into and he instantly yelps, digging his heels into the dirt.

 

The girl pauses, confused, and he takes the opportunity to twist out of her grip and stumble away. “Th-that’s a very kind offer,” he stutters, flushing. “But I’m a bit too old for you. Also married! Did I mention married? Probably should have mentioned that first. Don’t tell River.”

 

She blinks at him.

 

He keeps talking anyway, fidgeting all the while. It’s the heat, he decides as his mouth runs away with him. The heat is making him babble. It has nothing to do with his anxiety over River somehow finding out he had almost allowed himself to be led into a brothel and his first protest hadn’t been _I’m married_. She’d probably laugh, he reasons with himself. Laugh and then shoot him.

 

He stumbles back a step, his voice rising in pitch when the girl follows him. “My wife, she’s the jealous type and well – I’d rather like to keep all my appendages. Rather attached to them, actually.” He claps his hands together, forcing a grin. “So. How about just a lemonade?”

 

Frowning, she settles a hand on her hip. “We got gin but only for paying customers. You gonna let me take care of you or not?” She smirks. “Your wife ain’t gotta find out, sugar.”

 

“Then I’m afraid you don’t know my wife.” The Doctor scratches his cheek. “And even if she didn’t know, I would.”

 

Sweat drips into his eyes again and the Doctor blinks rapidly, his eyes watering. Reluctant to look away from the girl in case she decides to try dragging him inside again, the Doctor reaches blindly into his coat pocket for his handkerchief. He wipes at his eyes and mops at the sweat gathered on his brow, pausing only when he hears a giggle.

 

He glances up, frowning, and sees the girl sashaying away with a hearty chuckle. She latches onto another young girl and whispers something in her ear, their heads bent together as they giggle to themselves, looking up in unison to stare at the Doctor. Puzzled but too relieved to question it, the Doctor turns on his heel and begins to walk away. He moves to pocket his handkerchief but it’s halfway back into his jacket when he realizes it feels a bit too lacy to belong to him. With growing trepidation, he drops his gaze and stares at it.

 

Instead of one of his handkerchiefs, he finds himself holding a very lacy, very familiar scrap of black fabric. River’s knickers.

 

Blushing scarlet, the Doctor stuffs them hurriedly back into his pocket and glances over his shoulder. Relaxing a little when he doesn’t see any Ponds nearby, he hastily stalks away from the brothel and the sound of more giggling, cursing his wife all the while.

 

 _iii_.

 

They’re surrounded and Amy is rather hoping the Doctor can do what he does best – get them out of it with clever words and a well-timed miracle. She stands directly behind her best friend, clinging to Rory’s hand and watching the Doctor gesticulate wildly. His movements are a distraction, she realizes, biting back a smile. He has a plan. Or at least a thing. Things are almost as good as plans in her experience.

 

“Amy, I don’t think-”

 

“Shh.” She squeezes Rory’s hand, nodding toward the Doctor. “He knows what he’s doing.”

 

Rory eyes her skeptically.

 

“Oh shut up. He always gets us out, doesn’t he?”

 

“He gets you out,” Rory mutters. “I haven’t always been so lucky.”

 

Leaning in, Amy presses a smacking kiss to his cheek. “You always come back.”

 

“Oi!” The Doctor glances over his shoulder, scowling at them. “I’m trying to be impressive over here. Stop snogging – it’s undermining my authority.”

 

Amy raises an eyebrow. “ _What_ authority?”

 

“This authority -” The Doctor reaches into his pocket with a grin and Amy imagines he’s expecting to pull out his sonic but it definitely, definitely isn’t. For a moment, he doesn’t seem to notice, brandishing the handcuffs about threateningly. Amy purses her lips and slaps a hand over her mouth.

 

Rory coughs to hide a snort.

 

She nudges him.

 

The Doctor looks triumphantly at his enemies, smug as he takes in their blank, puzzled faces. “Now, unless you’d all like to see what this baby can do -”

 

Amy pinches the bridge of her nose. “Doctor?”

 

“What, Pond? I’m a bit busy saving us all so -”

 

She sighs. “Look at what’s in your hand.”

 

“It’s my sonic -” He drops his gaze with a huff and when he spots the handcuffs dangling from his fingers, he recoils so violently he drops them. “What? I didn’t – that’s not -” He stops suddenly, his hands curling into fists as he stares down at the handcuffs and growls out only one word. “ _River_.”

 

They’re surrounded and she’s about to be made into Scottish stew for some very hungry wolf hybrids the Doctor insists are not actually werewolves, and the Doctor has no plan, no thing, and no sonic screwdriver. All they have is a pair of handcuffs the Doctor and River apparently use for reasons Amy would rather not think about. And despite it all, she finds herself struggling to hold back a bout of hysterical giggles.

 

Beside her, Rory is nearly as red as the Doctor himself. “There’s something I didn’t need to know about their marriage.”

 

The Doctor sputters. “I didn’t – she -” He scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, deflating. “Your daughter, Pond. Hope you’re proud.”

 

Amy grins behind her hand. She really rather is.

 

_iv._

 

“Are you sure it’s in here?”

 

Holding aloft the Doctor’s tweed jacket, Rory glances over his shoulder at his son-in-law and long-term houseguest and sighs. The Doctor isn’t even paying him any mind, too immersed in the game of chess he’s playing with himself. It’s his third round – he keeps challenging himself to a do-over.

 

Biting his tongue, Rory calls out again, “Doctor? Are you sure the Wii remote is in here?”

 

“Yes, I’m sure,” the Doctor says absently, tongue poking out of his mouth as he concentrates. “Probably. But watch out for the bitey thing in there – never did return it. Hell of a grip.”

 

Rory drops the coat hastily. “Bitey thing?”

 

At the trepidation in his voice, the Doctor finally looks up from the chessboard and huffs. “Fish vampires and cybermen and two thousand years of dealing with humanity and Rory Williams is afraid to put his hand in a _pocket_?”

 

“When that pocket apparently has teeth, yes!” Rory glares at him and the Doctor frowns right back. “You’re the one who lost the remote. Why don’t you look for it?”

 

“Because Amy said I’m not allowed to move until I’ve eaten my vegetables.” The Doctor casts an uneasy glance at the plate of long-cold brussel sprouts beside him on the table. He sticks out his tongue. “I’m standing my ground, Centurion.”

 

Biting back a put upon sigh, Rory reluctantly reaches for the coat again. “Alright. Fine. I’ll look for it.” He gives the Doctor another glare. “But if something bites off my fingers, you’re explaining this to Amy.”

 

The Doctor salutes him distractedly, already preoccupied with his game again.

 

Holding his breath, Rory plunges his hand into the Doctor’s coat pocket and hopes for the best. Something pricks his finger. He yelps, clinging onto it and pulling his hand back out. He stares. “Why do you have a pineapple in your coat? _How_ do you have a pineapple in your coat?”

 

“Bigger on the inside.”

 

“Of course it is,” he mutters, depositing the fruit onto the table.

 

“Oi, you never know when you’re going to need a pineapple! It’s currency on some planets.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Rory returns to the coat and plunges his hand back into the pocket. He pulls out a piece of string, a yo-yo, a fez, a pack of matches, and three packages of Wonka Pixy Stix – the permanent sugar rush suddenly makes all the sense in the world. “Doctor, is there anything actually useful in here?”

 

“Everything is useful in the right circumstances,” the Doctor mutters, frowning at the chessboard in concentration.

 

Rory sighs. He’s just about to switch to the other pocket and check it instead when he feels something else. A small square of something like paper, only thicker. A photograph. It feels like a photograph. Prolonged exposure to the Doctor has made a curious man out of him, so with a careful glance over his shoulder to make sure the other man isn’t paying him any attention, Rory pulls out the picture to have a look.

 

And immediately wishes he hadn’t.

 

He chokes, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, but it’s too late. The image is burned into his retinas – River clad in nothing but a feather boa strategically draped over her breasts, legs splayed and red lips puckered in a devilish pout. Oh god. He’s going to have to gouge his eyes out just to rid himself of the image.

 

Taking a shuddering breath, Rory opens his eyes and stares at the inscription on the back of the photograph. In River’s curling script, it reads _A little something to remember me by in our lonely days apart. Look always toward the nights, my love. Happy Anniversary xoxo River._ Next to the writing is a brilliant red lipstick kiss. It’s not as though he didn’t know his daughter and the Doctor were sleeping together – though it’s certainly something he tries to never think about – but it’s an entirely different matter to be faced with evidence.

 

Rory whimpers. “Doctor?”

 

“Busy, Rory.”

 

“ _Doctor_.”

 

He huffs, glancing up. “What is it? Did you find -” His gaze lands on the photograph in Rory’s hand and Rory watches as all the color promptly drains from his face. “That’s…”

 

Rory flexes his jaw. “A picture of my naked daughter in your coat pocket?”

 

“Actually,” the Doctor scratches his cheek. “It’s a picture of my naked wife in my coat pocket.” The color returns to his face in a rush and he reddens all the way up to his ears. He glances skittishly away, clearing his throat. “Erm, you’re not going to get your sword, are you? Because we are technically married. Really, properly -”

 

Rory glares at him and the Doctor gulps, flinching when he moves suddenly. Blindly reaching for the Doctor’s coat, Rory shoves the photograph back into the pocket where he found it and walks away.

 

Nervously, the Doctor calls after him, “Where are you going?”

 

“To buy a new remote,” he replies, shuddering. “And some bleach.”

 

 _v_.

 

“Where? Where can you be now that you’d forget something like that?”

 

The Doctor stares into the face of his younger, angrier self – the last him, the him that had been so human all he did was get hurt – and wishes he could tell him everything. He wishes he could tell him where he goes after he regenerates. He wishes he could tell him about the Ponds and River Song and the little family that had been his, just for a while. Instead, he swallows it all back and says, “Spoilers.”

 

“No, for once I would like to know where I’m going -”

 

“No,” the Doctor finally snaps, because as much as wonderful as things were for so long, he had still lost everything. His Ponds, his wife – all gone now. “You really wouldn’t.”

 

Sandshoes tries to latch onto his arm but the Doctor jerks out of his grip with a scowl and whirls away. His coat flares around him as he paces from him and a soft noise breaks the tense quiet. It’s the sound of something small and plastic hitting the stones and the Doctor drops his gaze to watch a tube of lipstick roll across the floor and away from him.

 

Earlier ire forgotten, he dives for it but he’s a second too late – Sandshoes picks it up. His lip curls as he studies the cylinder tube, eyeing it like he might a disgusting foreign bug. “Not really our color, is it?”

 

In the corner of their cell, the War Doctor watches the exchange silently.

 

The Doctor flushes, reaching out and snatching the lipstick from his younger self. “It’s not mine,” he snaps, tucking it safely back into his pocket. “It’s – it belonged to my wife.”

 

“Wife?” The War Doctor frowns. “Deflowering queens and using sonic screwdrivers as weapons, marrying women and carrying around lipstick. Have I gone insane in the future?”

 

“Oh hush, granddad,” the Doctor scowls, eyeing his younger self as he watches him sadly. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

 

Sandshoes ignores him. “Is it – was it hers? River -”

 

The Doctor turns away, his hearts in his throat, and chokes out again, “Spoilers.”

 

_i._

 

He never thought he would be here again, sitting in Vastra’s parlour and having tea, his darling wife at his side and attempting to play footsy with him beneath the table. The Doctor stifles a grin in a sip of his tea and eyes River warningly over the rim of his cup. _Behave_.

 

She lifts a brow back at him. _Make me_.

 

Oh he will. He isn’t afraid to make good on his threats now and he delights in how much River loves it. He delights in a lot of things now – everything seems new and brighter and altogether more exciting with his wee psychopath back in his life. Despite the darkness of the last few months, despite the loss of Clara, there is light again – blinding light without end. It will remain as long as she does.

 

The Doctor shifts his booted foot under the table and brushes River’s ankle. Her eyes light up, the curve of her smile against her porcelain cup a promise of things to come. A little thrill tingles up his spine at the sight of it.

 

“Ahem.”

 

They glance up like guilty children and find Vastra watching them with a quiet smile. “I trust your – thirty-second, wasn’t it – honeymoon has been a success?”

 

River hums, selecting another biscuit from the platter in the middle of the table. Her eyes gleam as she looks up. “A rousing success,” she murmurs, and her foot slides up his calf.

 

The Doctor fights back a shudder, glaring at her without any real bite. He’s enjoying himself far too much. “Aside from a slight Slitheen invasion on that pleasure planet cruise.”

 

“I thought it really livened up the entertainment portion of the evening,” River says, taking a delicate bite of her biscuit.

 

“That was all you, dear,” he says, lifting his brows at her. “Or don’t you remember taking them all down in your knickers? Tequila does interesting things to your memory, did you know?”

 

“Then you carrying me off over your shoulder wasn’t a dream?” She muses, her smile widening. “How delightfully Neanderthal of you, my love.”

 

He winks at her.

 

Vastra sighs, apparently despairing of them, but Jenny looks entertained by the turn the conversation has taken – she always did like when discussion turned to River’s knickers. It happens rather more often than the Doctor would like.

 

“Excuse me, Sir -”

 

The Doctor glances toward the doorway and finds Strax standing there holding aloft the coat he had shed upon entering the house. The silk red lining gleams in the afternoon light. “What is it, Potato?”

 

“I found this on the floor. I believe it fell out of your pocket.” He holds up a foil packet with his other hand and River promptly hides a smirk in a long sip of tea. “With your permission I should like to confiscate it for my personal collection of explosives.”

 

River snorts into her teacup. The Doctor huffs at her and turns his glare on Strax. “It’s not a grenade, you lumpy vegetable. It’s a condom.”

 

Strax blinks at him. “I am unfamiliar with the term, Sir.”

 

Jenny rolls her eyes. “It’s a prophylactic, Strax.”

 

Vastra wrinkles her nose and clarifies, “Used in human mating practices to prevent the spread of disease and offspring.”

 

The Doctor watches in amusement as Strax immediately drops the packet and stares at his hand like all the bleach in the world will not cleanse it. River tilts her head at the Doctor, her foot brushing his ankle as she chuckles warmly. The Doctor basks in the sound for a moment, letting his smile linger as he returns his attention to Strax. “Put that back where you found it. I’ll be needing it later.”

 

Vastra sets aside her teacup with a rattle, eyeing him disapprovingly.

 

“What?” He lifts a brow at her. “Can’t have wee Time Lords running about, can we?”

 

“Well,” River smirks. “Not unless you’re prepared to stay home with them.”

 

The Doctor nudges her leg beneath the table. River grins.

 

It’s good to have her back.


End file.
